


All Roads Lead to You

by Ensign_Conners



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alcoholic Bones, Angst, Angsty Schmoop, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-07
Updated: 2013-11-07
Packaged: 2017-12-31 17:40:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1034501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ensign_Conners/pseuds/Ensign_Conners
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jim wakes up later in the hospital after the events of STID, he finds out that Bones isn't there anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Roads Lead to You

**Author's Note:**

> This is a shamelessly angstier look at post-STID. In my other similar fic, LC commented that they wanted a more manpain-filled version of post-STID, maybe where Bones collapses or he's suspended from Starfleet and he's not there when Jim next wakes up in the hospital.
> 
> So voila, this fic happened. I am super surprised I wrote all this in a matter of a couple days. I hurt my own feels with it. D:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Jim first wakes up and sees Bones, he's so relieved. He doesn't think anything of it, the banter, the light-hearted comments to the side; he doesn't question it. He's still just trying to wrap his head around that he opened his eyes again, that he's alive when every second of his very painful and terrifying stay on the floor of that radioactive compartment his mind had been screaming at him, _'You're about to die! You're dying, Jim! You can't! No, don't blink, don't close your eyes! Jim!'_ And wasn't it odd then, that that voice sounded an awful lot like Bones? Probably not. He'd spent so many years hearing that very man growl and yell at him whenever he'd gotten himself in trouble at bars or the numerous times he'd hurt himself tinkering off shift in the bowels of the Enterprise with Scotty.

 

It makes sense, that in that moment of bone-melting hurt, he would hear the good doctor in his head. Would want Bones there to make it stop, make it better, even though his burning mouth couldn't wrap around the words, but he could feel them filling up to the brim in his eyes. As he was looking up at Spock, thankful for his presence but dazedly wondering, _'When will you get here, Bones? Bones...? I sure did it this time. Are you going to yell at me? Am I ever going to see you again? Bones...'_

 

It's coming out of a dead sleep, disjointed and dubiously lucid days later, that brings everything rushing back. He's still at the hospital and the lights are low, nighttime settled heavy outside, much like the dread in his chest.

 

Jim looks around frantically and when he finds the room empty, he looks to the door and waits agonizing seconds, completely expecting that Bones will get an alert to the jump in his blood pressure and come waltzing in.

 

Except, it's not Bones that comes in, it's a nurse. And he stares at her, not comprehending as her mouth moves and he vaguely registers her asking if he's in pain, what can she do for him?

 

Bones would know, he wouldn't need to ask.

 

“Where's Bo- I mean... Doctor McCoy?”

 

Something sharp and a tiny bit distressed passes through her eyes. “Uh- Doctor McCoy-” she draws the syllables of his name out like she's buying time to think of the right response and Jim truly starts to panic.

 

“Tell me! Where is he?”

 

Suddenly, wild scenarios are racing through his head. The first time he woke, maybe that was a dream. It would make sense. Bones had acted nothing like Jim had come to know. He was some strange, completely calm pod-person. It wasn't right. Something had been wrong, what if Jim hadn't saved the Enterprise? What if everyone was dead and he was the only one who made it?

 

“Mr. Kirk, please! You need to calm down or I'm going to have to sedate you.” The nurse comes through to him, her delicate hands at his shoulder and they're the wrong hands. She's not the person he wants.

 

Jim tries to breathe and look her in the eyes. “Where's Bones? Where is he?”

 

The nurse looks to the door like she's fishing for a lifeline before she looks back to him. “Doctor McCoy is no longer at this hospital.”

 

His voice cracks. “What the fuck do you mean no longer at this hospital?”

 

“He went home.” She blurts plainly.

 

Everything in Jim stops for a second, because he doesn't understand. “Home?” And he doesn't mean to be crude when he thinks, _'What home?'_ Because there is no other home. Home for Bones is with Jim, right? On the Enterprise... at his side. Jim knows that because Bones is _his_ home.

 

The nurse swallows nervously. “The, the other doctors, they put, uhm, they put him off rotation. He was very tired...” She's obviously floundering, uncomfortable with telling him something... telling him the truth.

 

Jim actively works to settle the roiling emotions in his head, becomes Captain Kirk once again. He grabs her wrist lightly and looks at her imploringly. “What happened?”

 

She seems to realize that help isn't going to come and her shoulders slump in defeat. “Doctor McCoy... collapsed.”

 

Fear strikes sharp across his chest and sinks in deep.

 

“He was very attentive in your recovery. He overworked himself. He was okay when they released him, but unfortunately, he was not allowed to return. He hasn't tried to return.”

 

Jim lets go of her wrist and looks down, eyes unseeing and thoughts a mess.

 

“There- your communicator is on the table beside you. Perhaps you could try to call him, or maybe one of your friends. Though you might want to try later, it's very late.”

 

Jim nods slowly and turns his head to stare at the communicator. He feels numb. He doesn't know how to feel.

 

“Do you need any pain suppressors, Mr. Kirk? Can I get you anything?” She asks again.

 

He clumsily forms his mouth around the words. “No.. no. Thank you. I'll try calling.”

 

She nods quickly and leaves the room.

 

Jim reaches out as the door closes and grabs his comm. He immediately dials Bones.

 

“You've reached Leonard McCoy. Leave a message or don't.” ... _Beep._

 

Jim smiles at the brusk recording Bones had been using since the Academy. Jim had been in the room when he'd done it. He'd been nagging at Bones about the automated machine whenever Jim tried to call him, he didn't like it. And like with all things, if he kept on about it enough, Bones would eventually give in to whatever whim Jim was on.

 

“Fine! You want a message, I'll give you a damn message, ya brat!” Bones had growled, flipping his comm open and jabbing at the right set of buttons.

 

“You may begin recording after the tone.” The automated woman had prompted him.

 

_Beep._

 

“You've reached Leonard McCoy. Leave a message,” and Bones' eyes had locked pointedly on Jim then, amused and sharp. “ _or don't_.”

 

Jim had grinned wide as Bones snapped the comm shut. “See, that wasn't so hard.”

 

He'd only gotten a surly grunt in response.

 

Jim flounders for a second in the following silence of the recording before he remembers what he needs to say. “Hey, Bones... I'm really worried about you. The nurse... she told me you collapsed. Please, call me back. I really want to talk to you... I... just call me back.”

 

He closes the comm and stares at it in his lap, expecting it to chirp at him any second.

 

Jim only manages to wait for about thirty until he's flipping his comm back open and calling the first person he thinks will know exactly what's going on with Bones.

 

He's faced with another recording. “This is the great genius, Montgomery Scott, ye have so luckily tried t'get ahauld of. State ye'r biz'nss and I'll get back t'ye when I can.”

 

“Scotty... I was hoping you'd pick up. Call me when you get this...”

 

Again, he snaps his comm closed and stares at it, but just as quickly swipes it back open and tries Bones and Scotty one more time. No luck.

 

So he tries Uhura.

 

“Jim?” Comes the half-asleep greeting.

 

“Uhura! Geez, at least someone can answer their comm.” Jim says, relief flooding him. He needs answers and he needs them now or he'll do something stupid, like try to crawl out of bed and find them himself.

 

“Well, it is three in the morning and everything.” She mutters before addressing him with trademark concern. “Are you okay?”

 

Jim sighs and rubs at his eyes with his free hand. “I guess... Uhura. Where's Bones? What happened?”

 

There's eerie silence through the comm before she speaks carefully. “He was in a bad way, Jim. I-I tried to get him to stop and rest, and... I even thought he was okay, before you woke up. He was good at hiding it, but I should've paid better attention.”

 

Jim takes a shaky breath. “Where is he now?”

 

Uhura exhales tiredly over the line. “Back to Georgia... not sure where. He said he had some stuff to take care of. They had just released him from the hospital. He was pretty upset that they wouldn't let him see you... and well, Starfleet put him on suspension, Jim.”

 

“ _What?_ Why?” Jim blurts in disbelief.

 

“For one, his health... and also, for using Khan to bring you back. It was, it's not something I would ever argue with. I'm glad he did what he did, but Starfleet doesn't see it like that. They're reviewing the transcripts, talking to witnesses...”

 

“Shit.”

 

“I'm so sorry, Jim.”

 

“I'm gonna go find him, Uhura. As soon as they can release me.”

 

Uhura is quiet again for a couple seconds, her voice weighty and sincere when she speaks. “He needs you, Jim.”

 

Jim closes his eyes tightly. “I need him, too.”

 

 

xxxx

 

 

The first thing Leonard does when he staggers through the door is throw his communicator straight to the bottom of the trashbin in the kitchen.

 

The next, drink more alcohol.

 

He wakes up slumped half on and off the living room couch, the equally familiar and unfamiliar smell in the air spurring him to drag himself into a sitting position and look around.

 

That's right... he'd come back to the farmhouse.

 

The dust cover on the couch crinkles beneath him as he shifts around. Everything is stale and dim, the late afternoon sky outside muted by the fat gray clouds he can see from the sliver of window between the curtains.

 

He sneezes, and then he groans because, dear god, _his head_.

 

It's then that all of the pain he'd been doing a good job of drowning in alcohol comes rushing back. Jim and the hospital and they'd made him leave, they wouldn't let him stay, and then he'd just left and gone to a bar for a bit. It had been there that he'd stewed and mused and fallen deeper into a dark, horrible hole of thoughts he never wanted to think. Like, ' _I can't do this anymore, I can't go back up there, I can't be beside him.'_

 

Leonard lurches up with purpose and goes straight to the liquor cabinet because the bottle on the coffee table is empty. He wrenches the doors open and morosely thanks his grandfather for his fine stash of all the good stuff, then just as swiftly apologizes for how he's about to use it. Straight up and with no time to enjoy any soft notes of molasses or oak and pepper undertones. A certainly blasphemous and appalling waste of top shelf bourbon.

 

Time skips along disjointed and hazy before he's jarred back when he's puking into the downstairs toilet. Great heaving wracks of his body, so violent he thinks he might expel a lung. It goes on for a while, until he's exhausted and his head is pounding, body wedged upright between the tub and the toilet bowl.

 

What a fucking disgrace he is, what a pathetic piece of shit.

 

Grating and disjointed laughter echoes through the tiny, square washroom.

 

“Are you proud of me now, Gram?” He calls out to the silence, like the ghost of his grandmother will appear and respond.

 

He feels the heady rise of sorrow. It burns up into his eyes and for a second, he holds it back, but then he realizes that no one is here to see. No one will ever be here to see. He'll rot here and Jim will be alive and that's all that matters. He'd done his part, he'd done the last good thing he could wrench out of himself even if Starfleet and a host of other people had disapproved of the hows and whys.

 

Even if Jim had looked away from him and over his shoulder at _Spock._

 

Leonard clenches his hands tight and scowls, cheeks hot with jealousy and shame.

 

Of all the people to thank. And maybe that's not fair. He knows if Khan had escaped, Jim would be dead, but if Leonard hadn't made the serum, the outcome would've been just the same. He recognizes the needy, petulant tone to the thoughts, the self-hatred that squeezes in with them.

 

He'd done _everything_ for Jim.

 

But he can't anymore. Jim had died on that ship, under _his_ watch. And in perhaps the greatest of his anger towards Spock, the Vulcan had been there for Jim's death. Had _comforted_ him. He'd done what _Leonard_ was supposed to do.

 

Leonard didn't even have a chance to be there, to do anything at all. Maybe he could've if someone just would've _called_ him. He would've gone, he would've gone so fast. Instead, years and years of friendship had ended on such an unfair note. All that love and trust he'd dared to place in another person again lying on a table, pale and unmoving.

 

He thinks that was the moment that he'd truly put his hands up and surrendered to the fucked up twists the universe seemed to deliver him time and time again. He almost had before his shuttle ride to the Academy. Sitting and drinking and wondering what the fuck he was doing, going to _Starfleet._ How low he had fallen, left with nothing and no one. All he had left was what he could do, what he knew. The driving force behind it all, knowing that if he couldn't help himself, then at least he could help someone else.

 

And now, that too had been taken from him.

 

If he can't help Jim, what good is he? Better he leave Jim in more capable hands. _Vulcan_ hands.

 

The universe has finally left him a broken man, down to the core. That's the goal, isn't it? The grand fucking design.

 

And can he really kid himself? A washed up old man following around this bright kid who will go on to do amazing things, had already done amazing things, and Leonard just won't be able to keep up. Can't keep up. Can't go through that again. Doesn't want to be there for it again.

 

Jim is just so _reckless_. And Leonard too... damn it, too _in love_ to watch him be hurt over and over again. Leonard had put up with a lot as Jim's CMO... and it had been okay, for a long time he'd just kept putting one foot in front of the other if it meant being by Jim's side, but... seeing him so still like that. Patching Jim up was one thing, but losing him...

 

He can't do it again. Hell, look at him now! He's a damn mess. If Starfleet doesn't rule in his favor, what will he do? Sell his skills on the black market? That's a fucking fantastic option...

 

No, he's done.

 

He's just done.

 

Leonard levers himself up and shuffles to the sink, turning the water on and listening to the rusty, disused pipes creak before the spout spews unevenly.

 

He wipes his tear-streaked face off and dares meet his own eyes in the smudged mirror. His lips curl at himself in disgust and he turns away from the sink to go back into the living room, back to his increasingly jarring headache, glad for the pain as it clouds his thoughts and becomes the only thing he can focus on.

 

 

xxxx

 

 

Leonard again rises up from unconsciousness some time later, feeling only marginally better. He knows he must be dehydrated but he can only bring himself to half-heartedly care. It's the cotton mouth that does it. Gets him up and moving and resignedly seeking to remedy the situation.

 

He wearily moves outside with a glass of water in hand. Sips at it as he sits in one of the rickety wood chairs on the back porch. The morning sun is slicing haphazardly through the seconds long peeks of sky above the continued oppressive crush of the clouds.

 

Leonard wonders if it'll rain and he hopes so.

 

It's not long before he's back to the bottle.

 

It starts raining midway into his drunken slump at the kitchen table, eyes half-lidded and vaguely paying attention to the wind blowing through the trees outside the bay window. It starts out as a soft pour, delicately tapping against the porch roof, before turning into a waterfall.

 

It's hypnotizing, watching the sheet of water come down outside, so he lays his head onto his crossed arms and lets the loud shushing lull him to sleep.

 

 

xxxx

 

 

In a closer moment of awareness, Leonard wobbles his way to the kitchen. He doesn't know how long it's been since he's eaten, but his stomach has had enough and demands food.

 

Not unsurprisingly, he takes out the framed mirror hanging in the hallway to the kitchen when he careens unsteadily into it. What _is_ surprising is that he hadn't broken something before now. He can honestly say there are possibly only a handful of hours at the farmhouse so far that he'd truly been lucid.

 

Leonard disregards the smashed mirror, only kicking the bigger pieces out of the way of where he walks, then goes to dig in the pantry. It's not a very fruitful search and it only ends with him sitting at the kitchen table eating a can of years expired baked beans.

 

They taste fine so he doesn't think anything bad will come out of this desperate choice, but he's not going to complain if he happens to keel over.

 

With food out of the way for the moment, he goes straight back to the liquor cabinet and tops himself off into another haze of blissful drunkenness.

 

 

xxxx

 

 

Leonard is shocked from a dream with absolute certainty that Jim is dead. He had failed and Jim had went from the medbay table to a funeral home. Leonard had stood there, frozen to the spot and watched in muted horror as Jim was lowered into the ground, the lid to his coffin open so that Jim's peaceful, resting face mocked him the whole way down.

 

He falls out of the bed he's in and crawls to the washroom across the hall to puke his guts out for the second time. Pained tears slide down his cheeks one after the other as he struggles to contain the urge to throw up a couple planets.

 

He's not quite ready to be standing when he does lurch up, but he has one destination in mind, and that's the trashbin in the kitchen. He knows his comm rests at the bottom of it and everything screams in him to call someone, anyone. He has to know for sure. He has to know that Jim is okay.

 

Leonard is on his knees in front of the trashbin when he forces himself to pause. He rests his forehead against the cool metal and just breathes.

 

His foggy, hurting, half-asleep brain repeats to him that Jim is fine. When Leonard had left the hospital, everything was fine.

 

He clutches at the lid of the bin, anger at himself and fear for Jim warring away inside him. He will always believe that _he_ can only be the best doctor for Jim, the best hope for Jim. If something is going wrong, Leonard knows deep in his bones that _he_ can be the one to fix it, to make it better.

 

Against all odds, he'd found a way to bring Jim back from the _fucking dead_. That said it all, didn't it? How far he would go.

 

But he's already decided that that's _enough_. No more. He can't do that anymore.

 

Leonard growls irritably. What if Jim is getting bad though? What if something isn't right? Leonard will be the best person to _make it right._ If he ignores this feeling and something bad happens to Jim, he'll truly never be able to forgive himself. He has to know.

 

One call... one little call...

 

Unable to keep himself away any longer, he digs into the empty bin and pulls out his comm. Relief floods him at the two missed calls from Jim. There's also one from Scotty, a couple from Uhura, staff in his sickbay, Carol, and the predictable ones from various Starfleet personnel.

 

Leonard listens to Jim's message first and only, something jagged and misaligned in him righting itself momentarily at the sound of the other man's voice.

 

Tears, once again, spill down his cheeks, his breathing the only other thing giving away how much it hurts to be away from Jim. How much it hurts not to be able to monitor him and keep an eye on him, because anything could go wrong at any time, couldn't it? Leonard is such a pessimist, but he thinks that way with good reason. It wouldn't be the first time he'd had a patient of recovering health backslide into total deterioration.

 

He doesn't feel like he can talk to Jim right now, though. He's too angry and sad and upset. He doesn't know how it would go. If he'd rail at Jim for putting him in this situation, for being so reckless and essentially abandoning him to a post in space that he couldn't keep if Jim wasn't there to make it a good enough reason to stay. Or if he'd just cry, silently and choked, unable to speak, because what could he say that wouldn't sound ridiculous?

 

_You're all I have. You took that away from me. You went somewhere I couldn't follow. I hate you. I love you. I wish I could hold you and feel you breathe, feel your warmth, know with all my senses that you're okay. I wish..._

 

He pushes the melodramatic thoughts away, wipes his face, and dials Uhura.

 

“Leonard!”

 

“Uhura,” he says, wincing at the gravel-rough voice and clearing his throat.

 

“Jesus, Leonard. Are you okay?”

 

He swallows and shakes his head. “I'm fine. I just, I wanted to know how Jim is doing. Have you seen him?” And man, is his voice a mess. There's no way she believes he's fine. He sounds like he's been crawling in a desert for the last... he pulls his comm back for a quick second and checks the date. God, it's nearly been a week.

 

Uhura sounds unsure and worried when she speaks. “Call him, Leonard. He wants to hear from you. Where are you?”

 

He scowls and contains his sigh. “So he's fine, then?”

 

“Yes, he's great, but Len-”

 

He snaps the comm closed and immediately feels terrible for being so rude.

 

He drowns the feeling with more liquor.

 

 

xxxx

 

 

Jim steps off the shuttle in Atlanta, Georgia and wrinkles his nose at the sticky warmth that assails him. The sky is overcast and gloomy, and Jim feels the ever present worry draw tighter across his skin. He wants to see Bones, hell, needs to see him at this point.

 

Jim was released from the San Fran Hospital after a week and a half, mostly due to substantial bitching on his part and some finagling on Scotty's. It's not like Jim is going to be without medical supervision here. Bones is here, and that's all that really needs to be said.

 

He pulls his comm out and tries to call Bones for the hundredth time. No answer.

 

Jim curses under his breath in frustration, only mildly appeased by the fact that Uhura had told him Bones had called her a couple days earlier asking how Jim was. Of course, once the other man had heard what he'd wanted to hear, he'd hung up on Uhura and gone silent again. She'd made a point to emphasize how exhausted the doctor had sounded, the information setting an uneasy buzz at the base of Jim's skull that had yet to leave.

 

Again, with Scotty's help, Jim had traced Bones' comm coordinates the day before he was due to be released, the satellite view of the location showing a farmhouse on a decent sized slice of land out in the boons of North Georgia.

 

Jim isn't entirely sure what Bones is doing out in that isolated farmhouse, but he does know that it can't be anything good.

 

All of the staff who had worked with Bones while he was present at the hospital had all reported the same impressions of the doctor. He was at turns manic, extremely irritable, talkative, quiet, and restless. They had all just assumed he was very passionate about his work, they were familiar with the type, but Jim knows that's far from the type of person Bones is. The way they'd described him had sounded more like a mad scientist than the level-headed if not gruff mannered man Jim is familiar with.

 

Bones' collapse, he was told, was due to exhaustion, malnutrition, and a mild stims overdose. The doctor who had treated Bones assured Jim that he was physically recovered when he'd left the hospital, though he couldn't say in good faith if Bones had been recovered mentally.

 

Jim doesn't think he'll ever get over what he's put Bones through. He still believes he hadn't had a choice at the time, and he certainly doesn't regret what he did, but Jim feels horrible all the same. What he does know is that he'll do whatever it takes to make it up to Bones.

 

He rents a sleek, black motorcycle and heads for Bones, full-throttle. Thankfully, the clouds look dark and heavy for show and no torrential downpours happen as he drives.

 

He pulls up in front of the tired-looking farmhouse after a couple hours. Paint is peeling at the eaves and in some of the creases in the wood on the sides. He can tell it used to be white a long time ago, but had muddled into a dreary gray, the shutters a hunter green. It's obvious it was a beautiful home at one point, probably idyllic in terms of relaxing vacation spots.

 

Jim swings his leg up and off the bike, letting out a groan as he stands. He's still experiencing some fatigue and he feels particularly sore if he maintains one position for too long, something the new doctor said would affect him for a little while longer. He stretches the kinks out slowly, careful not to get ahead of himself in his desire to see Bones.

 

There's no car out front so he guesses Bones must've arrived by taxi. He doesn't consider that Bones might not be there, because it scares him. He'd have no way to trace Bones, but Jim knows he'd still try. He'd search the whole damn countryside and beyond.

 

Jim takes the steps slowly, listening for any sounds coming from inside the house. Everything is eerily quiet, only the ruffle of trees and twitter of the occasional bird coming back to him.

 

He takes a breath and knocks on the door, purposeful and confident. “Bones? You in there? It's Jim.”

 

No answer.

 

He knocks again, a little harder. Still no answer. He shifts over to the window to try and look inside, but they're covered by thick curtains and it's too dim inside to see anything through the sliver of space in the curtains.

 

Jim puts his hands on his hips and sighs. He doesn't want to break in, but it's looking like he might not have a choice. For the hell of it, he goes back to the front door and tries the knob. He lets out a surprised huff when the knob turns and he's able to wedge the door open.

 

He peeks his head around the door, squinting into the dim interior. “Bones?” He calls hesitantly, slowly stepping further into the doorway. He sneezes as soon as he closes the door behind him. The house could use a team of professional cleaners. It was like the air was made of dust.

 

The first thing he notices is the broken mirror lying in pieces along the wall down the hall. He furrows his brows and decides to check the living room to his right before going further into the house. As he comes around to the front of the covered couch, his heart does a violent leap in his chest at the sight of Bones sprawled across it.

 

He's on his knees and grabbing Bones' face in both his hands before he can consciously initiate the act. The smell of liquor is pervasive and Jim's heart speeds away against his ribs. “Bones? Bones! Hey, wake up.”

 

Jim lets out a shaky exhale when the other man groans.

 

“Hey, Bones. It's Jim. I'm here.” He murmurs, stroking the ruffled and greasy bangs away from Bones' forehead. “I see you've forgone the whole showering thing. I hope you know this means you can't argue with me about hygiene again, old man.”

 

“J'hm?” Bones mumbles thickly, eyelids twitching and trying to lift, but it seems to take too much effort. The other man goes still again after a tiny sigh.

 

Jim frowns and lets his gaze wander over to the near empty bottle of bourbon on the table next to a completely empty one, and then the open liquor cabinet across the room. “Jesus, Bones.” He mumbles sadly, fingers still carding through Bones' hair.

 

He turns his head to look back down at the doctor, wondering what he should do first.

 

Clear away the liquor. That sounds like a good start. Then open the windows and get some air coming through here, even if it's humid out, it'll help take away some of the reek of staleness.

 

Jim stands, feeling renewed in light of these tasks. He'll get some water and make some soup for when Bones wakes up. It's obvious he's too far in drunk sleep to be coherent for now, but Jim will try again in a couple hours.

 

“It's my turn to take care of you, Bones.” He whispers down at his dear friend before leaving the room.

 

 

xxxx

 

 

It takes all of Leonard's mental strength to crawl up out of unconsciousness, and it's a slow process. He can smell something cooking, maybe chicken, and it smells good alongside the soothing hint of damp earth and grass in the air. He hears footsteps off somewhere, the clacking of objects against wood or metal echoing in random intervals.

 

His eyes slowly, wearily open next. Nothing is as he left it, or at least, the familiar things are gone, like the bottles that are supposed to be on the coffee table. There's only a lone glass of water now. His eyes flick to the liquor cabinet to find the doors closed and there's nothing behind the glass that hints at its contents. It's empty.

 

Alarm is gradually starting to flow through him, and he groans in pain as he levers himself up. It takes a minute or two, but he manages to get his... socked feet to the floor, and since when did he take his shoes off? And for that matter, how'd he end up covered with a blanket and now that he looks, his head had been lying on a pillow.

 

He blinks in confusion from his sitting position, brain running molasses slow. He jumps as something clatters loudly in the kitchen and someone swears under their breath. His heart starts racing at that voice, because he knows it. He knows who that is, but it can't be.

 

Leonard stares anxiously at the archway that's closest to the kitchen, the soft yellow light filtering into the hallway further confirmation that someone is here in the house.

 

“Jim?” He rasps. It's not loud at all and the person in the kitchen continues to move around.

 

Leonard looks over to the water and picks it up. He takes three hearty gulps, a sudden thirst striking him as soon as the water touches his tongue, but he manages to stop himself from gulping it all down in one go.

 

He tries calling out again. “Jim?” Yes, much better.

 

The movement stops and the kitchen grows silent. His anxiety doubles, strange fears surging up, that this is some weird dream and he's about to wake up. That speaking so loudly had dispelled the delusion that someone was there, except the light remains on in the kitchen, the liquor remains gone, and the blanket and pillow stay where they are.

 

Footsteps draw closer suddenly and... Jim appears in the archway, the light from the hallway haloing around him.

 

“Hey, you're up.” He says in a hushed voice.

 

Leonard swallows and stares dumbly at Jim.

 

A hesitant smile quirks one side of Jim's mouth. “How're you feeling?”

 

Leonard shakes his head slowly, still in disbelief, the headache he's become accustomed to rising up out of the background and pounding away in his skull.

 

Jim looks sort of hurt then and steps further into the room, approaches him like a startled animal. “You gonna say anything?”

 

Leonard opens his mouth, but no words come out. Pain and sadness rise up like a tidal wave before receding back, the next wave one of anger. “What the _hell_ are you doing out of the hospital?” He snaps.

 

Jim grins wide then, like that's exactly what he wanted to hear. “Relax, I was cleared by one of the doctors.”

 

Leonard sputters out an indignant snort. “You mean one of those _idiots_? Jesus, you shouldn't be fucking up, or walking around-”

 

“Bones!” Jim says loudly, sitting down and grabbing him by the upper arms.

 

Leonard snaps his mouth closed and tenses up. It's weird seeing Jim here, even weirder feeling the warmth of his palms through his jacket and long-sleeved shirt. He never thought he'd see him again, he just didn't...

 

“You shouldn't be here.” Leonard rasps, his heart falling with Jim's expression.

 

“Well, too bad, cause I'm here.” Jim says, a stubborn set to his jaw.

 

Leonard works to control his breathing. “I'm not... You're welcome to hang around, but I'm not coming back with you.”

 

Jim's eyes grow dark at that, anger creeping in. “What the hell does that mean?”

 

Leonard shakes off Jim's hands and stands unsteadily. “It means what it means. I'm done. No more Starfleet. No more doctor.”

 

Jim glares up at him, hands clenched on his lap. “If this is about the suspension, that's all it is, it doesn't mean it's perma-”

 

“ _No!_ That's not, that doesn't matter. I decided. _I'm done_.” He says, forcing out each syllable.

 

Jim looks like a lost little boy then, and Leonard's heart aches. “This is my fault, isn't it?”

 

Leonard stares at him, unable to say, _'Yes, yes, everything, it's you. It's you.'_

 

Jim seems to hear the unspoken words anyway, and his mouth creases into a grim line, shoulders sagging. “I had to, Bones. I did it for everyone. I did it for you. We were all going to _die_.”

 

Rage suffuses him, traveling through his veins like lightning so he's shaking with it. “Exactly, Jim. And it's always going to be like that, isn't it? You risking your neck for everyone else. And who gets to pick up the pieces afterwards? Me!”

 

Leonard looks away to the empty liquor cabinet, that somehow making him even madder. “And I can't. _I can't_.”

 

Jim jumps up then, back to anger. “Yes, you can! Don't you say that bullshit to me, Bones. I do dumb, courageous shit and you patch me up. That's how it is! You can't bail on me.”

 

Leonard snarls wordlessly and locks eyes with him. “I can do whatever I damn well please, kid.”

 

Jim breathes heavily through his nose, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “After all this time, after all we've been through, you're going to fucking cop-out on me now?”

 

“I don't owe you anything!” Leonard roars, swiping an old vase off the china hutch adjacent to the liquor cabinet. It crashes satisfyingly to the floor and scatters pieces across the area carpet and hardwood. “In fact, _you_ owe _me_!”

 

Jim laughs once, loud and harsh. “Oh, _fuck you_!”

 

Leonard bristles, wants to break something else. “No, fuck you, Jim! You-goddamn... child! Asshole! Selfish brat! Reckless jackass!”

 

“No, no, keep it coming! Is this helping you? Do you feel better?” Jim bites out, still and cold-eyed in his anger.

 

It's not, in fact, it's doing just the opposite. He's never felt worse than he does now. He whips away from Jim when he feels his bottom lip start to tremble, intent on going out the front door, but his legs decide they won't carry him that far and collapse under him in the hall. He coughs and shakes on his hands and knees as he tries his best to keep down the water he'd drank earlier.

 

“Damn it, Bones.” Jim hisses, hand curling over Leonard's shoulder as he comes to kneel beside him.

 

“Just go away.” Leonard tries to growl, but it only comes out high and breathless.

 

“I'm not going anywhere.” Jim whispers, and Leonard feels the blond's forehead rest against his temple, the fingers at the shoulder of his jacket gripping tightly at the fabric.

 

Leonard closes his eyes against the burn in them.

 

“Come on... I made the bed down the hall. Sleep it off.” Jim coaxes after long seconds, his fingers unfurling and smoothing down the fabric he rumpled.

 

Leonard shakes his head, but lets Jim pull an arm over his shoulder and lift him to his feet. They move down the hall carefully, Jim's right hand curled around his right wrist, his left arm holding tight around Leonard's waist. “Almost there.” The blond whispers supportively. “Watch out, door frame. There you go.”

 

Leonard flops bonelessly to the bed and doesn't even complain when Jim lifts his legs up onto the bed for him. He watches through half-lidded eyes as Jim pulls the covers over him and fusses with tucking them in before he finally looks at Leonard's face.

 

“I guess... I'll just be out there.”

 

Jim turns to leave, but fear surges up and puppets Leonard's hand into grabbing onto Jim's wrist.

 

Jim stops, obviously startled and stares down at Leonard, but Leonard just closes his eyes and holds on. Jim stands there for a few long seconds before he seems to get it and sits down on the side of the bed.

 

Leonard doesn't realize just how worn out he is, how run down until sleep is pulling at him like an anchor. And before he passes out entirely, he feels Jim pry his fingers from his wrist, but then his fingers are tangling with Leonard's, palm to palm.

 

He sleeps.

 

 

xxxx

 

 

Leonard opens his eyes and just like that, he's awake. It takes him a moment to remember what had happened before he'd slept again, but when he does, he sits up with a grunt and looks around.

 

Jim isn't in the room, but he recognizes the sound of someone trying to talk quietly. He guesses Jim is on his comm and he lets himself relax.

 

He rubs his hands across his face and for the first time since he got here, he feels horribly, unacceptably filthy. He wills himself out of bed and grabs a fresh set of clothes and some toiletries from his lone dufflebag in the corner of the room, then quietly makes his way to the washroom across the hall to take a long overdue shower.

 

He's out, shaved, mouth de-fuzzed, and clothed in about fifteen minutes. When he comes into the kitchen, Jim is sitting quietly at the table, staring out the bay windows where the sun is slowly creeping up over the distant treetops.

 

“Hey,” Leonard says awkwardly, rubbing at the back of his neck.

 

Jim hums back, but doesn't turn to look at him.

 

Leonard sighs softly and pulls out the chair across from Jim to sit down. The blond is doing his ' _Look at me, I'm a cool guy, totally unruffled_ ' routine, but Leonard knows he's just hiding whatever hurt or anger he may be feeling.

 

Leonard spends a good minute just staring at Jim who stares outside.

 

“Look, Jim...” He finally mutters. “I'm sorry... for the stuff I said... I was, well... still pretty drunk at the time, among other things.” And now that he thinks about it, he's starving. He could also use a drink, but if he remembers correctly, Jim had done something with all the liquor.

 

Jim finally looks away from the window and gives him his attention. “Did you mean it?”

 

Leonard furrows his brows and tries to think about what Jim is referring to.

 

Jim huffs and sits back in his chair, frowning. “Did you mean it when you said you're not going back?”

 

Leonard closes his eyes and brings a hand up to rub at his forehead. “I don't know, I think so.”

 

“Well, which is it?” Jim grumbles, frustration rising in his voice. “Either you are or you aren't.”

 

Leonard snaps his eyes open and glares over at Jim who is glaring right back. “I just woke up. I'd really like us to spend more than ten minutes without getting into a fight.”

 

Jim scrapes his chair back and stands, palms flat on the table. “I don't see why it's so hard to answer the question.”

 

Leonard sits back in his chair and crosses his arms tightly. “No, Jim... I'm not going back.”

 

Jim's jaw works and there's practically live sparks in his eyes. “This isn't fair. I feel like you're punishing me for saving everyone.”

 

Leonard tsks sharply and looks away. “Not everything is about you, Jim.” He blurts the words and recognizes them for the distraction that they are.

 

“Bullshit.” Jim growls, not taking the bait.

 

Leonard rolls his eyes and reluctantly looks back at Jim. “I'm burnt out, okay? And... I hate being in space-”

 

“Wait, let me stop you right there and say, _bullshit_.”

 

Leonard scowls harshly up at Jim who glares stonily back at him.

 

“I wish you'd just be _honest_ with me, Bones.” Jim says with conviction.

 

Leonard clenches his teeth together and fights with the thoughts in his head. There's no way he's letting loose some sappy declaration of love. Hell, no. He'd said more hinting to it than he'd ever thought he would the night before.

 

He loves Jim with everything he has, but he's not that brave. After everything he's been through or witnessed in his life, taking a leap of faith isn't an action he knows anymore. That's Jim. He's leaping faith personified.

 

What will come out of being honest, anyway? What can Jim even say to that? And what difference will it make in his decision?

 

He can't be there to see Jim like that again, because Jim had been dead. Completely and irreversibly dead. It had rang through his head after the first handful of seconds looking down at the blond's still face, after all the useless information he'd tried to dredge up to somehow make it not so, to change the situation.

 

Leonard remembers. All the fight had left him. He'd gone to that chair, fearing the strength in his legs failing him.

 

The thing that plagues him the most is what if that tribble hadn't come back to life?

 

Leonard is still that man Jim met all those years ago on that shuttle. Still that hopeless, cynical, surly mess. Jim had been like an upgrade to his circuits, but only one that had worked for as long as they were linked. Break that connection and all the things Jim had made better in Leonard are gone.

 

Jim is his hope. Jim is his leap of faith. Jim is his strength and everything that helps him face his fears. Jim is his joy and his laughter.

 

No, he can't lose that again.

 

It's better here. In this house, he feels safe from the world and all the pains it can inflict on him. No one dies in this house because they're already dead. There's no one here for him to save. There's nothing.

 

With that, he quietly gets out of his chair, Jim watching him with an incredulous expression on his face as he heads for the back door.

 

“Don't you walk away from me again!” Jim yells at his back.

 

Leonard keeps walking, pushes the door open with a little too much force and means to head out into the backyard, but his bare feet stop at the steps leading down.

 

He stays frozen there for time he's not sure he can account for, all he knows is that suddenly Jim is stomping through the house and the front door is slamming closed. The sound of a bike revving up is next, and Leonard crosses his arms tighter to his body as everything in him seizes up against going after him.

 

Jim's leaving. He's driving away. _It's a good thing_ , he tells himself. _Get away while you can, Jim._

 

After all, he isn't the only doctor on Earth or in the Galaxy. Jim will find another CMO. One that's better, even. One that doesn't get so emotionally invested he can't do his damn job.

 

With that cold comfort, he slowly makes his way back inside and to the kitchen. He opens the fridge and sees vegetables and fruits, stuff he doesn't know how Jim came to acquire, but he shrugs that aside and grabs the bowl of chicken soup resting on the bottom shelf. That must've been what he'd smelled cooking before.

 

He heats it on the stove, keeping his mind carefully blank the whole time. Then he eats at the table, staring outside without really seeing anything.

 

He sits there for a while when he's done, until the soup he ate makes him so drowsy that he decides to go back to bed.

 

 

xxxx

 

 

When Leonard wakes up, Jim is lying across from him. The blond is holding his hand, blue eyes on him, open and serious.

 

“I thought you left...” He murmurs. It's the only thing he can think of to say.

 

The corner of Jim's mouth pulls up a bit. “Just clearing my head before I strangled you. You're being a real pain in my ass.”

 

Leonard snorts. “That's a change.” It was always him that wanted to throttle Jim.

 

Jim huffs a soft laugh. “I know, right?”

 

Silence reigns between them for a couple minutes, Jim looking at him and Leonard looking down at their linked hands, before Jim makes an annoyed sound.

 

“You need me to go first? Fine then.” Jim says, squeezing Leonard's hand so he'll look up at him. “I love you, Bones. I need you... please, don't leave me.”

 

It feels like the air is sucked from his lungs, he's so shocked.

 

Jim smiles, amused by something in Leonard's expression. “I love you.” He says again. “And I don't mean like a brother, I mean like full on want to jump your bones, Bones.”

 

Leonard swallows thickly and manages a husky, “How long?”

 

Jim sighs and shifts a bit. “I don't know, since the Academy? I just didn't think that you'd feel that way... I mean, we've always been close, you've always taken care of me, Bones, but... I didn't think you'd want me like that so I put it out of my mind.”

 

Leonard raises a brow, trying to prompt him, _And?_

 

Jim rolls his eyes and Leonard finally notices that Jim is uncomfortable, nervous. The blond's eyes flit to a corner of the room. “Then the hospital happened and Uhura and Carol both insisted that this... us, that it was a two way street. I-I got... scared before I decided to come out here. I mean, I had planned to, but then I didn't know... if you'd even want to see me, after everything. They might've talked me off a proverbial ledge.”

 

Jim finally clams up then, eyelids low and covering most of his eyes as he gazes down at his feet, bottom lip tucked between worrying teeth.

 

Leonard knows what he needs to say, but the words are lodged in his throat. Instead, something else comes spilling out, and then it just keeps spilling. “I hated every minute that you were asleep. The machines didn't make me feel better. I needed to see you open your eyes. I needed to see you running that mouth-”

 

Jim jerks his gaze back up and stares with wide eyes.

 

“-And then you did, and I thought I'd feel better. But I just felt worse, I just got worse, because you would close your eyes again and I'd stand there monitoring your vitals, somehow still afraid you wouldn't wake up again. I was so convinced... what I did... it was... it was crazy and it hadn't been done before.” Leonard closes his eyes and growls softly. “I would've drained Khan dry if it meant saving you... it wasn't right, Jim.”

 

Jim takes his hand from Leonard's to place it along his jaw. “So you did something crazy because you loved someone... it's not unheard of. I'm pretty sure there's epic novels and movies about that kind of thing.” Jim whispers.

 

When he opens his eyes, the tears that had been building behind them slip out and drip to the pillow. “I don't think I can trust myself anymore, Jim. To be there for you... to be a good doctor.”

 

Something fierce and full rises up in Jim's eyes, and then the blond is leaning over him, both hands framing his face, his lips pressing passionately against Leonard's.

 

He can feel himself start to tremble all over, his hands pushing under Jim's shirt and clutching at his back. His skin is so warm and full of life, muscles shifting under his fingers as the blond kisses him deep with a touch of roughness, both of them gasping shakily when there's a need to break for air.

 

Jim sits up suddenly and pulls his shirt off, before yanking at Leonard's shirt and dragging it up. “Get this off,” he gasps. “Come on.”

 

“Jim,” Leonard sputters, hands still gripping Jim's sides, and it feels painful to break contact with him when he has to raise his arms to get his shirt off, but then Jim is lying over him. The blond presses their bare chests together and scoops his arms under Leonard, holding him tightly in his embrace.

 

Jim buries his face in Leonard's neck and whispers, “I'm right here. I'm fine. I promise I'll... I'll do whatever it takes to come back to you whole enough to fix. Just don't give up on me, on all the people and beings you'll save in the future. You're so amazing, Bones. Don't give up...”

 

Leonard holds Jim as close as he can for long moments and breathes into the crook of his shoulder, reveling in the smell of rain and something uniquely Jim. “I get off track sometimes, Jim. Just... grab me and pull me along, even if I'm kicking up a fuss. I'll follow you anywhere... I know you know what's good for me...” He pauses, trying to quell his shaking. “I know you're good for me.”

 

Jim leans back and makes sure they have eye contact, those beautiful blue eyes shining down at him. “You're good for me, too, Bones. And I'm seriously thinking you don't realize that, but I'll make it my life's work to convince you.”

 

“Okay, Jim...” He whispers, fingers brushing over Jim's shoulder blades and wandering over the bumps of his spine. “Okay.”

 

 

xxxx

 

 

They leave the farmhouse the following morning, Leonard pausing on the porch steps as Jim makes his way out to the bike in the driveway.

 

He watches Jim mount the bike and then look over at him patiently, his hands resting on his thighs.

 

Leonard turns a bit and looks at the closed front door. This place had embodied a safe haven once and after the loss of his grandparents, it had turned into something that elicited a sad nostalgia. It was still something of a home in a lot of ways, which explained his need to come here when everything had been going wrong and he'd felt he'd lost his place in the universe.

 

He likes that it doesn't feel sad here anymore. There's hope in this place now, new beginnings.

 

Wouldn't it figure that it only took Jim to make it that way? How much that kid changes everything in such a short amount of time. For the better. Always for the better.

 

Leonard finally takes the steps down and crunches across the grass onto gravel on his way to Jim. He looks dubiously at the bike and then Jim's grinning face. “You really couldn't rent a car?”

 

“Not my style.” Jim says, laughter dancing in his eyes. “Quit complaining and get on.”

 

He feels his lips curl into a smirk and steps closer to kiss Jim. He doesn't think he'll ever get tired of kissing the blond, especially if he has free reign to do it whenever he wants to.

 

When they part, he brushes his thumb across Jim's cheek and looks at him seriously. Everything isn't magically better, not all of it. They'll still fight, he knows that. And sometime in the future, Jim will undoubtedly get hurt and put Leonard through the ringer, but he knows now. It's worth it. To share this love with Jim, well... he'd go through just about every hell imaginable.

 

“I love you, Jim.”

 

Jim smiles brightly, eyes squinting and crow's feet splayed next to them.

 

“I know, Bones.”

 

 

 

 

 

_“ Of course I’ll hurt you. Of course you’ll hurt me. Of course we will hurt each other. But this is the very condition of existence. To become spring, means accepting the risk of winter. To become presence, means accepting the risk of absence.”_

  
**-Antoine de Saint-Exupéry** ,  _The Little Prince_


End file.
